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Chaosforge 4e PBF - IC

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Malek Deneith:
Almost twelve days have passed since you left from Fallcrest responding to a call for help from settlement of Winterhaven, placed about 50 miles to northwest. There you spent a week figuring things out. Missing townspeople led to zombies wandering around. Zombies led to nearby ruins of an outpost remembering times of Nerath empire, ruins that were positively crawling with various undead. And ruins led to a half-open magical portal of some sort, placed deep inside of them. On that you managed to learn a story - how about ten years ago another adventuring party went down to the very ruins to stop some cultist or necromancer from using the magical aparatus for his own malicious goal. Neither the adventurers nor the necromancer ever came back, and people of Winterhaven went on believing the previous party stopped the evil at cost of their very own lives. A belief that turned out to be based on false premises considering the recent infestation. Regardless you cleared the undead in the area, then re-sealed the portal - hopefully for good this time - using a ritual that local sage managed to find in his tomes.

Just as you were about to spend some time on rest and celebration, ruler of Winterhaven - Lord Ernest Padraig - called you once more, this time with news on how during your absence the weather in Fallcrest and areas around it suddenly turned from middle of summer to winter, and how this unnatural winter is supposedly spreading. Padraig asked, paying in advance, that you travel back to Fallcrest and check those reports, ideally figuring out what is the cause, and communicate the information you learn back to him once you know what's happening. Weary as you might be after your recently finished task you set out back south and east. At first it seemed the news might be false, weather near Winterhaven seemingly as it should be. But about five miles down the road you noticed that the air got cooler and that plants around you are starting to wither prematurely. Ten more and you find yourself wading through snow, and as you got closer to Fallcrest things only got worse. Deep snow, frozen rivers, snowstorms. The few areas where people were brave enough to try and settle outside of strong walls of established settlements now delerict and devoid of life. The winter seems to have got better over even monsters and brigands, the only "threat" you encounter during your journey back being a single goblin trying to gather some firewood. Now, finally, you seem to be nearing your destination, the walls of Fallcrest looming on the horizon. Just ten, twenty maybe minutes of walk more and perhaps you'll learn something about what is happening around you...

--- Quote ---Right, some room for you to talk before we start proper. Introduce/describe yourselves, chat a bit, you know the drill.

As a result of Padraig's payment each of you has now 100 gold pieces - no more, no less :P Hope that answers your question about having any change LuckyDee. Also anyone who didn't have Adventurer's Kit in their inventory now has one.

Oh and as for how long the party was formed - Fallcrest was pretty low on people with adventurer "gift" when the call from Winterhaven came, most other adventurers being busy with different threats around the world. You're the people they managed to put together on short notice ;)
--- End quote ---

S.K. Ren:
It is known Mul's are bald. Which makes the glorious beard sprouting from Gosok's face all the more surprising. Though any attempts at questioning so far have been met with only a dry chuckle; his lips remaining sealed. Bearing the decorum and armaments of a land far away brings even more questions and laughter.

It was not long ago that he was lead by the wind to his current companions. Wind that carried him far far from his 'home' in the great deserts. The wind that has been a part of him since he began his journey. The wind that never seems to leave him alone. Truly the wind was his ally and his nemesis; constantly flowing within him.
Blowing the snow from his furs, Gosok turns to his companions. Scratching at the space in front of him, a few glowing runes appear in the air

╢╞╬ ├╠╗╢ ╛╞┼╖╣╔ ├╠╩╦ ╬╣ ╬╜╛│└
The Mul remains silent. His face - cracked by the cold - gives little in the way of expression. Clad in fur and hide, his stocky figure makes for an imposing shadow in the white fog of snow.

If what they say about the Kalashtar being strangers in a strange land is true, this goes doubly so for Isirius Thray. It's not merely the fact that he's on a personal quest, far from home, nor that he pursues this with a resolve that from time to time borders on obliviousness; it's mostly the way he looks and acts toward those he encounters that tends to leave people baffled. Generally dressed in sturdy traveller's gear that betrays his affinity with the shadows around him, the first instinct he tends to invoke in others is wariness. His athletic physique and striking good looks only serve to enhance this effect; especially his eyes, with their silver irises that seem to flow like mercury can really have the tendency to unnerve the meek.

Apart from the slight smile that can be found playing across his features even in his sleep, his appearance stands completely at odds with his demeanor: Isirius is honorable and hospitable, and never short on a friendly word or gesture. He always speaks in a warm, slightly high-pitched voice that never ceases to sound amused. And that's exactly what tends to baffle those around him: he speaks the words - Good to see you again with the same intonation as he would - I am sorry for your loss or - I'll be stringing you up by your own guts.

As he has pointed out to the rest of his current company, he has left his hometown of Valenor in search of a Dreamweaver Blade to aid his best friend's daughter. She is stuck in transit between the Material Plane and Dal Quor - and has been for several years - and the town's seer prophecised that only with the help of a Dreamweaver Blade and a Somnambulant Beacon she may safely be returned. Being immune to any malign side effect the Dreamweaver may have, Isirius set out to obtain the blade, while the girl's father rode out to locate the beacon.
Although he would hope to return home as soon as possible, his quest recently entered its fifth year, and the burning force that drove him to swift action has started to peter out. He has a promise to keep, though, and this promise will outweight many other considerations should he find the chance to fullfil it.

--- Quote ---Since I already had nearly everything contained in the Adventurer's Kit, I just added what I didn't yet have
--- End quote ---

Isirius turns to Gosok and glances at the runes floating through the air. Perhaps due to his inherent affinity for the surreal, he was able to read them in full from the moment he first laid eyes on them.

- We must be getting close...

Xander Morhaime:
Quill shuffled along near the head of the group, but by no means at the very lead - not since the snow started laying on thick. Right now she looked mostly unassuming: essentially a pile of fur coats, the armor underneath them clanging as she moved, with a scarf-wrapped scaly snout sticking out from under the hood, a long, sleek scaly tail swishing around in an agitated manner behind her, and a heavy flail slung over one shoulder.

"Quill hopes city has fire going when we get there. Otherwise Quill will start a fire with the first flammable thing on hand," she muttered bitterly under her breath. The kobold, it seemed, did not care for the cold and snow in the slightest.

Her motives for venturing out here were rather uninspiring - she did it simply for the offered pay, rather than any great sense of duty or honor. She was surprisingly strong for her small stature, and it served her well in the mercenary trade, earning her, if not respect and acceptance, then at least a decent living. Of course, times like this, tromping through the horrid white cold stuff, she had to wonder if there might not be an easier way to make gold, or at least a warmer place to do it in.


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